


Lonely

by okkaaaaayyy



Category: Presentable Liberty
Genre: I Don't Even Know, how does one tag, lots of death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 04:30:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9862676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okkaaaaayyy/pseuds/okkaaaaayyy
Summary: At first there was loneliness.Then the first letter came.





	

It seemed that for while all he knew was a crushing loneliness that filled up that empty cell of his more than he ever could. There was nothing here, so high up and isolated, with only a small window and the slits in the door to interact with the outside. And for that time, even if it was only half a day, all he felt was empty.  


And then the first letter came.  


After everything that had happened, he had lost track of who had sent the first one, but he was fairly sure it had been Salvador. At the words of his friend, far, far away on a journey, his heart lit up and he smiled for the first time since his imprisonment.  


Sal and him had been friend's for as long as he could remember. The other had always had a knack for exploring. “One day I’ll be a famous explorer, you’ll see!” He had exclaimed once when they were children. He was glad that Sal got to do even a little of what he wanted before his death.  


The next few letters were probably also from Sal before he signed off for a little bit. It was the letter that came after that that was new.  


One from his “happy buddy” who sent him borderline hysterical messages in a shaky font, nothing like Salvador’s distinguished writing. “You have to stay happy,” the messages would plead. They always made him think. At first it was _why would a random guy send a person he doesn’t even know messages to stay happy?_ That was soon answered by the letter from Mr. Money addressed to a certain Mr. Smiley, his happy buddy, he was sure. Blackmail, he thought bitterly, and he began to harbor a grudge for Mr. Money.  


And then the question of _was he happy?_ Was at the forefront of his mind when the letters came. Sure he had Sal’s letters, and a brand new game system, and to some extent he had Mr. Smiley himself, but then again, the other man only cared about him for his own safety. . . He was stuck here, in this prison, for the rest of his life, it seemed. He would never get to see anyone he knew ever again. The letters gave him a temporary joy, he supposed, but while he was waiting he felt sadness and even still, loneliness, creeping up on him.  


He wasn’t happy, he didn’t think, but he didn’t (couldn’t even if he had wanted to) tell Mr. Smiley that.  


And then Charlotte’s first letter came, on pretty pink floral stationery and in a flowing, beautiful cursive writing. And he still wasn’t happy, but at least he had another. . . friend?  


For awhile things went along; he got letters, he played his games, he looked out the window, Mr. Smiley seemed to be getting more and more desperate with his “up lifting” messages, Sal was coming back, he heard Charlotte’s music and it was as special as she had described it in her letter.  


He tried not to think about how he and Charlotte were the only people not yet infected, how the cure hurt people even worse, how Mr. Smiley had given up a lung, what Sal was going to see when he finally got back, how he wasn’t happy, how he was stuck.  


And Sal was there, close but too far away for him to touch or hug or even talk to in person. And Sal was horrified. He thought, once, that maybe it was better with him trapped up here, never to see the world again. At least he was shielded from modern horrors. He quickly went back to wanting escape when Charlotte sent him a letter. “If you don’t make it, I don’t think there’s any reason left for me to live.” It was something along the lines of that, and if he could write to her he would talk some sense into her, say “If I could get out of this prison I already would have, and we would already be together.” But then again, if he write to her, she wouldn’t feel so lonely in the first place.  


Mr. Smiley was dead. “I don’t care.” He still remembered the other’s words, could still imagine a voice sounding empty and dead and void of anything left at all. His first real glimpse at Mr. Smiley, and the man was already dead.  


Charlotte was going to be dead. Panic filled him as Sal came closer and closer, holding the promise of escape, of saving Charlotte.  


And then Charlotte was dead. The blood on the letter was wet, got on his hands, in his brain. It was all he could think about, all he could feel. Blood on his hands, on his face, in his head, contaminating his thoughts. He felt like crying. All he had was Sal; maybe they could still run away together. Maybe he could still be happy, even without Charlotte.  


And then Sal was dead.  


“Electrocuted,” Mr. Money’s letter said. The lights turned off, the door creaked open, and he was finally free, but none of it mattered - Sal was dead, Charlotte was dead, Mr. Smiley was dead. Everyone was dead.  


Everyone except him and Mr. Money, still slipping him letters through the slit at the bottom of the door.  


“Don’t open the door.” Nothing mattered, and he opened the door.  


The ride down the elevator was silent, as was the walk outside, and to the walk to the pastry shop.  


Charlotte’s last letter made him feel empty, and then he thought that maybe it was good, because then he matched everything else in this world.  


Empty. The towns, the shops, himself; all of it was the same - empty.  


And he’d never felt more lonely than at that moment.

**Author's Note:**

> As my first time posting here, I can finally affirm that tagging is actually impossible.  
> I don't really know what this is, but I hope somebody likes it!  
> Also feel free to let me know about any errors or any comments you had.


End file.
